NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 76

Chapter 76: Cleaning up a Mess!

Slowly, deliberately, Artis reached out, his hand stretching with predatory precision….

His thumb slid under the edge of her nightie, grazing the soft curve of her underboob like it had all the time in the world.

The remaining four fingers splayed above where her breasts began, hovering with maddening proximity to her stiff nipples.

Nadia’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling like a stormy sea. His touch was maddeningly close but infuriatingly restrained. Her body was betraying her, every nerve ending screaming for more.

Her thighs pressed together in a futile attempt to contain the flood, but it was no use. She could feel her juices trickling down her legs, pooling beneath her chair as if her body was trying to compete with the soup spill.

Artis tilted his head, his smirk as smug as ever.

“You’re making a bigger mess than the soup, Nadia.”

Her voice cracked as she tried to respond, but all she could manage was a breathy, needy whimper.

Then, ever so slowly, Artis applied pressure. His fingers pressed down, gliding with deliberate intent, while his thumb ascended like it was on a pilgrimage to her nipple.

Nadia’s mouth fell open in a silent scream before a guttural moan ripped free, echoing through the room like the overture to some sinful symphony.

Her head snapped back as if possessed, her body arching off the chair in an exaggerated display of ecstasy.

“FUCK!!! YESS!!!”

She hollered, her legs spasming wildly, sending her chair skidding an inch back as her juices turned the floor into a hazardous slip zone.

Artis wasn’t even halfway done. His hand curled further, cupping her entire breast like it was a prize to be claimed.

The way he worked her, you’d think he was sculpting fine art, not manhandling a woman who was one shiver away from turning the dining room into a wetland sanctuary.

Nadia’s head lolled limply against the chair, her legs twitching like she’d just been electrocuted, and yet he persisted.

His hand journeyed higher, his fingers stopping just shy of her hardened peak, now glistening like it was about to explode from sheer anticipation.

And then it happened. His thumb moved with maddening slowness, a deliberate tease, before the very tip grazed her nipple.

A shockwave tore through her body, her back arching so violently the chair tipped.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

She shrieked, her voice cracking like a bad karaoke rendition. The chair wobbled but miraculously didn’t topple, as if even gravity knew this moment needed to be savored.

Her legs twitched like a malfunctioning wind-up toy, and another gush of her juices joined the growing puddle on the floor.

Nadia was ascending to another plane of existence—her mouth opened wide, a high-pitched squeal bursting out as his thumb finally pressed down on the hardened peak like it was the button to launch her straight into orbit.

“A-AAHHHH!”

Her back arched so dramatically she resembled a human bowstring, her head thrown back like she was auditioning for the role of “Orgasmic Statue #1.”

Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, Artis gave her breast a punishing squeeze, then pulled in a single, deliberate motion.

It was over. Nadia’s dam of pent-up frustration and unfulfilled lust shattered, and her orgasm hit like a tsunami.

The scream she let out was primal, unhinged, echoing through the room like she was summoning spirits.

Her legs spasmed wildly, and the sheer force of her climax turned her into a leaky sprinkler system.

Unfortunately for Juliana, who was enthusiastically choking on Artis’s cock like it was the last popsicle on a hot summer day, she was directly in the splash zone.

But did Juliana have a clue? Not a damn chance. The poor woman was laser-focused on guzzling down Artis’s “scepter of glory” like it held the secret to eternal youth.

Her mouth worked overtime, slurping and guzzling like she was trying to win an Olympic medal in enthusiastic suction. Her face was a masterpiece of spit, drool, and whatever else had joined the party, creating a Picasso of fluids.

Whether the new splash decorating her cheeks was her own spit or Artis’s “special sauce,” she didn’t know—and honestly, she didn’t care. She was too busy worshipping the object of her obsession like a thirsty pilgrim at the fountain of life.

Meanwhile, Nadia was pulling herself together—or trying to. Her body finally stopped spasming like a short-circuited robot, and her head lolled forward from where it had been dramatically hanging over the back of her chair.

She inhaled deeply, then leaned on the table, her breaths slowing as she steadied herself.

But then she glanced downward.

“Oh, holy fuck—”

Her eyes widened in horror as she took in the catastrophe below. The chair was practically a slip-and-slide, and her lower half looked like she’d just come out of a dunk tank.

Her nightie, soaked and clinging to her like second skin, left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

‘Did I… did I really do this?’

She glanced up, and of course, Artis was watching her. That infuriating, devilish smirk was plastered across his face, his eyes sparkling with amusement and something far more sinful.

“You look like you had fun.”

He teased, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Nadia wanted to evaporate on the spot. She glared at him, but the redness creeping up her face betrayed her.

“Shut up…”

She muttered, crossing her arms defensively over her chest—but all it did was squish her breasts together, creating an even more tantalizing view.

Artis’s smirk only grew wider.

“No need to be shy, Nadia. Everyone has a first time making a puddle.”

If looks could kill, Artis would’ve been six feet under.

Instead, he chuckled, leaning back like the smug bastard he was, while Juliana continued her marathon below, oblivious to Nadia’s mortified glare and the literal pool at her feet.

Nadia’s shame hit her like a freight train. Moments ago, she’d been desperate—no, feral—for Artis to touch her, to ravage her, to make her a permanent resident of Sin City.

But now, post-orgasm clarity struck her like divine punishment. A week’s worth of pent-up tension had exploded out of her, and with it, her common sense decided to return for an uninvited cameo.

Her thoughts raced at light speed, each more mortifying than the last.

‘Did I really do that? Did I just… squirt all over the floor? Did I just suck his fingers like a starved kitten in front of Juliana? Oh, gods, why do I exist?’

Her muffled self-recriminations were interrupted by Artis’s deep, throaty laugh, and she peeked through her fingers just in time to see him lounging smugly like a king on his throne of chaos.

That damned smirk was back, as if to remind her of every single shameful second of the evening.

“No, no, no…”

She whispered, shaking her head vigorously like she could somehow deny reality.

Artis raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“What’s the matter, Nadia? Regret spilling your feelings all over the place?”

That did it. With a strangled noise that sounded somewhere between a squeak and a whimper, she shot to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Her wet nightie clung to her like a second skin, leaving absolutely no mystery about what lay beneath.

Artis’s gaze flicked down briefly, and his grin turned wolfish.

“Careful, Nadia. Running off like that might give me the wrong idea.”

“Shut up!” she shrieked, her voice muffled by her hands, which were still firmly planted over her face as she made a mad dash for her room.

Her bare feet slapped against the floor, the sheer awkwardness of her retreat only making the moment more absurd.

And yet, as she disappeared down the hall, leaving a trail of shame and glistening thighs, Artis couldn’t hold back any longer.

The sight of her wet nightie clinging to every curve, paired with her panicked escape, was too much.

With a deep groan, his head fell back, and Juliana—still very occupied—let out a surprised gasp as he finally lost control.

Artis didn’t even need to guide her—Juliana was a woman on a mission.

Her hands gripped his thighs as she drove herself deeper, her lips sealed tight around the throbbing base of his cock, determined not to let even a single drop escape.

His shaft pulsed violently, the sensation sending tremors through his entire body as his release surged straight into her eager mouth.

Juliana didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. She swallowed every wave with practiced grace, her throat working rhythmically to make sure none of his divine essence was wasted.

Even after the torrent began to ebb, she didn’t pull away. No, Juliana stayed right where she was, ensuring every last drop found its way into her.

Only when she was confident that there wasn’t so much as a stray bead left did she finally withdraw, slowly and sensually, her lips dragging along his length like she was savoring the taste.

Artis let out a long exhale, his body relaxing as the last tremor subsided. He glanced down, catching Juliana’s eyes as she tilted her head back with a satisfied smile.

Her lips were glistening, and her tongue darted out to capture a stray drop clinging to the corner of her mouth.

But she wasn’t done. Juliana leaned back in, planting soft kisses along his shaft, her tongue flicking out to trace every vein, every curve.

Her movements were deliberate, her intent clear—she wasn’t just cleaning him; she was worshipping him.

“You’re thorough, aren’t you?”

Artis smirked, his voice low and teasing.

Juliana pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and devotion.

“Of course,” she purred, pressing one last kiss to his now-clean tip. “I wouldn’t want to leave a mess behind. You deserve better than that.”